Anyway, the goblin sees him, right? And it starts a hollerin' and howlin' and the one hes tryin' to sneak up on turns real quick and looks right at that other goblin. But Mick is just hangin there completely out of sight.
So this stupid goblin does a flying leap off the ledge and starts wailin' on the other one because they're goblins, you know? Nasty lot and what have you. The two are rolling along the ground biting and kicking and screaming and Mick is still just hanging there, watching it out of the corner of his eye before slowly, glacially, pulling himself up onto the ledge.
And what do you know, more of the gobbys show up and it turns from two goblins into a scrum of twenty, all different colors with their black blood and yellowed teeth flyin' every which way. And up on the ledge, Mick is just watching it play out.
Two hours later he walks back to the guild and hands in 100 of their left ears, most of which were torn or had chew marks, all covered in the sticky black blood they have. And for a whole week he just sat around on vacation at the guild bar, this very one, telling this same story, but much more exaggerated, of course. Called them hobgoblins sometimes, and bugbears the time after,
And that's where the trouble came in, y'see, because ol' Rafter Cranston had just about had enough of the story having been down on his luck of late. He usually made twice as much a day as Mick would in a Month, but for the past few weeks...
~~~~~
...Then smack out of nowhere the lycanthopic goblin rounds the corner right into good ol' Mick who had finally succumbed to the need to piss. He'd been out there for two whole days just waiting for the damn beast and it walks up on him when he has his trousers down round his ankles.
And so he turns and he sprays it right in the face, because of course he does. What would you do? Same thing, right? and so the goblinthrope, as I'm gonna call it, goes all stiff and shakes its head and you can tell that's its right near berserk. Got a very sensitive nose and all. Most goblins wouldn't really care that much, so don't go tryin' it out.
Meanwhile Mick is hopping his ass off trying to get over to the pile of garlic he had and pull his pants up at the same time. And so he trips, falls right into the pit that he dug and coated with silver. No handholds, relatively smooth. No weapons or anything besides the dagger attached to his belt, and that was made of iron.
The goblinthrope comes barreling over the pit as well, and the silver worked like a charm at keeping the bugger inside. It starts smoking, and writhing, and wailing like when the dogs get to barking just down the street sometimes. And through it all, Mick is trying his hardest, and this is true, to actually climb up the goblinthrope and get enough height to escape his own trap.
If Thoguh Half-Beard hadn't wandered into the old warehouse at exactly that time, looking for Mick, then he would doubtless have been a goner. And so the wizard, and I say wizard generously, begins to levitate Mick out of the pit, but at a snails pace because Thoguh specializes in explosion magic.
Mick is almost out of the trap when the goblinthrope bites onto his pant leg and starts pulling him back down by sheer weight. It refuses to die without some form of payback.
So what does Mick do? He starts pulling off his pants again, that's what! And it works, so there he is, floating above the trap with no pants, Thoguh is concentrating on his spell. And then the thing's mate walks around the corner. The look on his face was priceless, let me tell you!
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